Framework
by Split-Psychosis
Summary: For many it’s out of the question to reject the norm. But for a select few, the structure of their lives begins to crumble and reshape, pieces of plywood pulled and replaced to create a twisted form of framework only they can uphold. Mello/Near Slight M/M


**Pairing:** Mello/Near, slight Mello/Matt

**Warnings: **Implied Sex.

**Notes:** Another old fic from over a year ago written as a present to my friend kleine_aster who utterly wins at everything she does. This story is broken up into five short little acts, the points of view switching each time, almost like five little intertwining drabbles making up a complete story. Uh...yes. Not really sure what else to say about it but enjoy?

**FRAMEWORK**

One may not come to realize it, but from this chaotic world stems structure – order. Many lead orderly lives, the doctrine they worship being that of routine. For many it's out of the question to reject the norm – a form of blasphemy at worst. But for a select few, the structure of their lives begins to crumble and reshape, pieces of plywood pulled and replaced to create a twisted form of framework that they can only uphold. And nothing, nothing except for change, draped in her glittery gowns of unknown twists and turns, can threaten to tear the infrastructure down.

**Act I – Departure**

The scene – a shabby apartment building with cracked paint embellishing its plaster walls, accompanied by rusty hinges that groan in agony at the thought of holding a door closed any longer. Yes, this is the setting of our story, or at least, the place where it begins. Many might be disgusted with the state of the place, takeout boxes and paper plates strewn here and there. Rented game disks along with various burnt DVDs litter the shabby coffee table, a box of half smoked cigarettes lying with them. Various wires seem to coil about at the foot of the couch, while a being, rather, a human being sits with the screen of a laptop pressed to his face.

In this tiny home that seems to be infected with chaos, all that is seen from the standpoint of goggled eyes is a lifestyle of order and familiarity. Chaos is only present on the screen he's currently fixated on, ears more focused on the sounds of pixelized slaughter than the whine from the front door's hinges, and a metallic click of the lock closing shut.

There are no goodbyes, nor "See you later"s. However, he can't resist letting his eyes lift up off the screen briefly to watch the black and blond figure exit.

There was no point in asking Mello where he was going.

He wouldn't be told anyway.

A cry from a lv 60 monster drew his attention back to the backlit screen of his laptop. No point in mulling over unspoken words or questions. There were spells to cast and heinous villains to kill.

**Act II – Sanctuary**

It was raining. What had started off as a few clear droplets had turned into a sheet of water, a shower if you will. It was as if the heavens themselves had overflowed, water cascading down upon the city in a desperate attempt to cleanse whatever dirt and sin had festered within. Tiny fingers drew an abstract design on the fogged up glass of the car window.

What a day. Mello certainly had picked a lovely date for them to meet.

With Gevanni ordered to wait in the car, umbrella over his head, he pried open the church's doors and stepped inside.

Alone.

The church itself seemed rather antique, its structure and decor rather fabulous and pristine. Only the pitter patter and drip drop of water logged shoes signaled his arrival to the person who had summoned him here.

Mello was quietly sitting in one of the pews, and from what Near could see his leather washed fingers were fumbling over a rosary, lips twisting and moving in silent prayer. Why religion or anything of the sort should be important now was irrelevant. Especially in this day and age. Especially when it came to Mello.

Fingers extracted themselves from the rosary and a temperamental gaze was thrown in his direction as he dutifully moved over to the pew, not bothering to sit as he stared down at him. Near hadn't been inside a church in years, and he doubted Mello had a better attendance record than he did.

No words spoken between the two as he was pulled onto Mello's lap, those same hands which had been wrapped around a holy symbol now ghosting over his chest. There was something otherworldly about the act, he figured, as he stared back at Mello's face, his blond hair alit by the soft glow of the candles which lined the inside of the church. Desperation soaked every one of Mello's gestures – actions speak louder than words after all. Near couldn't deny that he hadn't seen this coming – feverous kisses, searing marks that seemed to brand themselves upon his skin with a will of their own. It was carnal and scorching hot, painful and yet pleasure had somehow wormed its way into the whole tangle of limbs and suppressed desires.

And as soon as it began, it was snuffed out quickly, as if the rain from above had dampened many a candlewick within. Intoxicated Near lay, still panting as Mello threw on his coat, readying himself to leave. A tiny note, written on the inside of a chocolate wrapper was folded and stuffed into the palm of Near's right hand, forced into a fist as Mello pressed their fingers together.

"Don't open it." His voice was rough, but no trace of anger was to be found.

"Not until _God's_ begging for the right of sanctuary inside his own home."

**Act III – Rest**

It was late, and much to his disappointment, the fumbling noise outside the door _wasn't_ the delivery guy. Instead, Mello barged in like he normally did and made a beeline for the bathroom. At the noise of the shower he let his head droop back down onto the arm of the couch, PS2 controller held loosely in his hands. A hello would've been nice but Matt preferred personal hygiene over any kind of greeting.

Out of the shower Mello came, hair still damp and a wayward look on his face, nose scrunched up slightly at the sight of how much Chinese food Matt had ordered but it was erased when a Styrofoam box was shoved in his direction.

"Eat."

Normally he'd ignore a command from anyone other than himself, but he might as well. Besides, the fried noodles Matt had ordered looked pretty delicious. That wasn't the only surprise however.

"It's our Last Supper," Matt inwardly snorted at his joke, pulling out a half empty bottle of red wine, much to Mello's disgust? Glee? Confusion? Sometimes it was hard to tell with Mello.

"We might as well enjoy it."

The night was spent eating, drinking and playing Mortal Kombat, much to Mello's displeasure as for he kept losing the majority of the time. Once or twice though Matt let him win, no point in having to spend your last night with someone grumpy. The apartment had become even more of a pigsty if that were even possible, but it didn't really make a difference as to what state they left the place in. It wasn't as if they'd be coming back here.

In a tipsy stupor Matt made cheers to an afterlife filled with games galore, Mello building on the idea, saying that the clouds would be made of chocolate, to which Matt agreed and crashed their glasses together once more, the clink echoing in their ears.

It was silly, it was sad.

They were tired.

And soon enough, they both drifted off into what would be their last, true slumber.

**Act IV – Forgiveness**

The fray was more chaotic than Mello had imagined, envisioned, or dreamed that it would be.

"Matt, I got you killed." The words more or less slipped from him as if he were in a daze, before his eyes were ripped off the monitor and back onto the road.

"I'm sorry."

Two words that seemed foreign not only to his tongue, but to his ears as well.

It had been awhile since Mello had truly apologized for anything.

**Act V – Succession**

_God_ was finally gone and nimble fingers retrieved the note Mello had given to him weeks ago. Opening it carefully, inky eyes fixated on the scratchy handwriting, white shoulders slumping as he comprehended the message he'd been left with.

_You Win._

He stared at it for what seemed like hours, until it was placed back inside his shirt, in the same place he had kept his rival's picture months ago.

Never had a victory felt so hollow.


End file.
